


The Imposter Prince, or, The Game Continues

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Lost Prince - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-23
Updated: 2006-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco and The Rat adjust to life in the palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Imposter Prince, or, The Game Continues

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my lovely beta Au-chan, and happy holidays to Temaris! I hope this is something like what you had in mind.
> 
> Written for Temaris

 

 

The Rat hadn't been good at diplomacy in the beginning. The courtiers would contrive to have a private word with him, trying to see what this pale crippled foreign boy was, that he should have the favor of the king and stand at the prince's side. The Rat, who was not called The Rat now by anyone but Marco, did his best to stand tall and not appear to be leaning on his new crutches too heavily. But his conversation was hurried and halting by turns, and he feared he was reflecting badly on Marco and Loristan. He did not feel comfortable in his new silk clothes, tailor made especially for him, and he'd taken to sleeping curled up on the couch in his room, the large feather bed left untouched. He thought perhaps the courtiers, with their sharp eyes and graceful manners, could see the gutter on him beneath his fine garb.

It was this fear that led him to ask Lazarus for his help. For needn't an aide-de-camp be versed in all matters of court life, that he may serve his master better? Lazarus looked at him for a long moment after he asked this, then nodded. "It is well you should come to me with this," he said. "There are still those in the king's court who seek only power for themselves. They are not happy to have such a strong king," and here Lazarus's eyes seemed to glow fiercely, as they always did when he spoke of the king. It was as if all those years of being restrained from showing any public demonstration of his devotion had been compressed within him, until they created a fire in his soul that all the time remaining in his life could not dim or put out.

A normal person, to whom the phrase 'live to serve' is but an abstract concept, would have a hard time meeting that gaze. To The Rat though, who had spent his boyhood studying every scrap of military knowledge he could get his hands on, and to whom Loristan had given his 'place,' that look reflected the most holy kind of vocation his world held. There was a purity in that look that The Rat's young heart longed for the way another's might long for the simple life of the cloisters. He wanted to someday meet that gaze knowing he too had been forged into a sword worthy of his master's hand.

And so he began to meet with Lazarus, in one of the little quiet rooms off the palace library, to learn "the fine and subtle art of diplomacy," or, as The Rat took to thinking of it in his head, "how to talk to swells." The lessons began with titles, and the courtesies due to those who held them. "Never forget though that these are formalities," Lazarus cautioned him early on. "The truly powerful might not have a title to speak of, but they are the ones that must be treated most carefully. For that is the real purpose of these lessons. The politics of court life are more complex than you will realize for quite some time to come, but when that time does come, for the sake of his Majesty and the prince you must know how to navigate the customs and rituals of those who seek to influence them." Lazarus looked at him then with his keen eyes. "Even now there are those who would wish to gain that influence through you. Have you seen this?"

The Rat thought back to certain of the courtiers' probing questions and sharp eyes. "Yes, I've seen it. Some of them have never cared about who is the best for the throne, have they? They care about their own power more than what's best for Samavia."  
"Yes," the old soldier nodded approvingly "and what you must realise, above all else I might teach you, is that they are not any more worthy to serve the throne than you. Until you realise this, all the formalities you learn from me will not allow you to speak comfortably in their presence." And so the lessons continued, but The Rat still could not bring himself to believe that he was just as important as those smooth speaking members of the court.

~*~

The man's voice was smooth, but there was an undertone to it that sounded oily to The Rat.

"Consider, my prince, the plight of the Kavarska. They have lived on the edges of my land for centuries, ever since the Maranovich drove them from their ancestral home on the Kavarsia plains. Now, with your honored father on the throne, they might finally return to the land their hearts have longed for ever since they were forced to leave. And you could be the instrument of their return! If you would but speak to your father about this matter, persuade him to see to the rights of the tribes..." he trailed off here, presumably to allow Marco the chance to envision himself as an instrument of justice.

The Rat had been going to meet Marco in the Walking Garden, one of the few places the guards that were never far from the prince's side were easily ignored. As Marco said, they blended in with the hedges and vines. He hadn't been able to really talk to Marco for several days, there had not been sufficient privacy before. The courtiers that bothered him so with their looks and conversation and subtle questioning were twice as quick to descend on Marco, leaving no time or space for them to talk together. And now this fat man had waylaid Marco before he could get to him.

"It is my understanding that the plains in question are now occupied by farmers and their families," Marco replied. "Where would they go if the Kavarska moved back?"

"Of course it is a matter to be handled with some delicacy, but surely your father would not let overfed farmers stand in the way of stopping an injustice?" The man's tone was innocent, but his smile was sly. He had miscalculated though, in his mention of the king.

"I'm certain my father will try to be fair to all involved without any persuasion from me." Marco's voice now was cold and clipped, and from the look on the man's face, his expression was not any warmer. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I have an appointment."

He turned and walked away, toward the center of the garden.

The Rat caught up with him at edge of one of the reflecting pools. "I have to ask my father what Baron Mikalis has to gain by getting the Kavarska off his land completely," Marco said, looking down at his face in the blue-tiled pool. "He is not the kind of man to act selflessly."

He turned to The Rat suddenly. "What do you want to do now Rat? Now that we've finished the game, and we've returned Ivor to the throne? Do you want to stay with--stay here in the palace?"

"You know an aide-de-camp serves his master--" The Rat began, but Marco cut him off.

"I don't want you to serve me!" Marco said passionately. "I have more than enough people to serve me. What I need," and here his words became quieter, "is for you to be my friend. You were my friend before Samavia. Can't we still just be two boys, not a prince and his 'aide-de-camp'? I wish you'd go back to throwing rocks at me if not."

To The Rat's utter horror, Marco's voice became choked at this last bit, and he turned away sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his side.

"I didn't know that," The Rat said, wondering how he could have missed this unhappiness. "I didn't know you needed me to be your friend. I just knew that-that we're in Samavia now, and His Majesty's the king, and Lazarus serves him, and you're the prince, and I wanted-I wanted to stay with you."

He said the last bit softly, and Marco didn't look at him as he replied, his own voice muffled.

"When we were in London, it was the Game, the best of games, and even later, when we were part of the Secret Party, it was important, but it was still the Game we'd invented back in England. I knew--I knew that when it was all over, when the Sign had been given to all who needed to hear it, then we would go home. My father would be there, and I, I wouldn't be anything more than my father's son. And that would be enough," he said fiercely, as if someone had dared to suggest otherwise. "But now, now my father is the king. He was the king all the time I've known him. But I wasn't a prince until Samavia. I have always been ready to live and die for Samavia, but now they want me to rule it someday. They look at me and they see Ivor. But I'm just a boy. I don't know how rule a country, I don't know how to make sure everyone's happy! Ivor was my hero too, but--I don't know how to do this!"

Marco was breathing as if he'd just run a mile. He turned back around and there was something in his eyes The Rat had never seen in them before. It was the sort of angry desperation you feel after you've lived in fear for longer than you can stand. He had often seen it in the eyes of the inhabitants of Bone Court, but he'd never thought to see it in Marco's. It didn't belong there, not in the boy strangers stopped to watch in the street, the boy who radiated strength and will and purpose.

That strength and will and purpose weren't apparent now though. Now there was just a boy in from of him. And The Rat realised that Marco wasn't any more used to living in a palace and wearing silk trousers than he was. He too was trying to adjust to living in a position he'd never once dreamed would be his. He too felt he didn't belong.

How were they to go on this, both of them feeling like imposters in their own lives?

"How can I tell my father I'm not fit to be a prince?"

This galvanized The Rat from his lost silence. The idea that Marco--Marco!-- wasn't fit to be a prince was too preposterous to be thought. And if Marco needed his help, well, it didn't matter if he felt like an imposter.

"I don't know how to do this either," The Rat began. "I never figured I'd be anything more than vermin, and now I've gone from Bone Court to the high court of Samavia. But neither of us is alone. We've got Lazarus and your father, and we've got each other. That's not really so different than what we had before. We're still the Bearers of the Sign. If we can put Ivor back on the throne we can deal with what comes after. This is just the next part of the Game," The Rat said, beginning to sound eager. "Our mission now is to infiltrate the highest reaches of the kingdom, and learn to blend in effortlessly. Not by look or word or deed can we give ourselves away," and here Marco began to smile, "and we will report all we discover to the king so that he can direct us to our next assignment, and Lazarus can teach us both what we need to know to serve Samavia. It might be hard sometimes, we might feel like we're just imposters, but when that happens we'll remember we're agents of Samavia, and we'll go to the other and we can figure out the next step in the Game together."

Marco's face had gradually lost its desperate cast as The Rat went on, and now he spoke up too. "We can work out signs that only the other can read, so if we need help getting away from potential enemies the other can come, or send help."

The two boys smiled at each other, and suddenly the future was bright again, no longer palled by shaking uncertainty or self-doubt. They had found a way to walk down the path in front of them without fear.

For there was still the Game ahead of them, and it was one they knew how to play.

 


End file.
